Among Lovers and Friends
by Luciddreamer326
Summary: A short oneshot, BoothBrennan. A short journey inside Brennan's thoughts.


Title: Among Lovers and Friends

Plot: There really isn't one. It's just kind of a musing. Which in turn, means a one-shot.

Rating: T-R. I am not sure which one it is closer to.

Pairing: Hints of Brennan/Booth

Disclaimer: I got them out of a happy meal, so they belong to me now.

Note: Wha? That is what you will be thinking once you read this. Who the heck writes in second person? As an English major, I am told this is an incorrect way to write. And to those who told me that, pft to you.

You look in the mirror at yourself, pushing a few strands of hair the color of caramel behind your ear. Idly, you wash you hands, mind hopping from one thought to another. The bones just arrived, but the tiredness tugs at every muscle sinew and breaks you lower, stealing your energy.

You stand up straight to stretch the feeling away and smooth out the small wrinkles in you lab coat, running your hands quickly over your body. It's been a while since you were touched. Glancing at your watch, you watch a few seconds pass, and then sigh heavily. Outside the bathroom, the world is bustling. Nothing out there, while you debate going back out, will freeze itself once you leave. Everything will continue, deep into the night.

Gathering up will is hard to do sometimes in this place. They depend on things to keep running though. If life stopped, they would be beside themselves, wandering around like lost newborn from a fresh litter.

The look up from their work as you rejoin them, not really indicating whether they are glad you are back, but you know it, somewhere deep inside of you. Perhaps their staring eyes and occasional small talk are part of the reason why you don't throw your hands in the air some days and say, "Fuck it." They depend on you, and knowing this, you feel slightly better about waking up each morning, or staying up all night.

Your hands work with the bone, careful not to harm it or screw something up. The buzzer or scanner or whatever it is (you never know because its technology and you can barely open your email) sounds, indicating another presence in the workspace.

The smell of him is strong, masculine, and raw. Another weakness in your world. But you never tell Angela how he makes you feel weak in the knees, as absurd as it sounds, or how he makes your heart ache and long for him.

A hand connects ever so lightly against your hip, starting the anxiousness inside. This fits into one of your dirty dreams, him behind you, but you push the thought away quickly. There isn't a Booth and Brennan. And you wonder with sadness if there ever will be. Too much time has already been spent on the thought and work never fails to beckon you away from all thinking.

_Hey Bones_. What an awful pet name. But you tolerate it because you have fallen for him and it really doesn't matter anymore what he calls you. _Hey_, you throw back. Yes, he is here _again _because he needs help, only the kind you can give. _Another favor_.

If he had a million favors for you to do, you would probably do them because he has done a lot for you. Standing here is one of the gifts he has blessed you with, so yeah, you do what he asks, no matter what it is. What is the price of a life?

Maybe the question has no answer. Perhaps it was worth 3 or 4, but then again, it could be into the infinite. Rather than bother with the math, because honestly it's not your thing, you throw him a small look to show him you aren't in the mood for any crap today. He smiles, and everything you were trying for, that tough persona, drains out of your body and puddles at your feet.

Your life is probably less complicated that you make it out to be, because what if you told Booth how you feel? He might feel the same way. But rejection is always a large fear, so you stuff your feelings down and carry on as if nothing matters. You want him as a lover, but will take him as a friend if that is all it ever amounts to.

You will still have your late night dreams that come to you on the nights you do sleep, the ones that leave you with a smile plastered to your face when you wake up. If you can't be his companion personally, you will gladly be his professional one, but always long for something more.

_Can you do me a favor Bones?_

_Yes_. Yes you can.


End file.
